


Round Two, aka Mayflies

by Akzeriyyuth



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Angst, Angst and Porn, Canon Compliant, M/M, minor spoiler for Justice rank in P5R
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-16 21:27:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29089047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Akzeriyyuth/pseuds/Akzeriyyuth
Summary: It's a week after Akechi's Rank Eight battle and the night before the raid on Sae's palace.Ren wants some closure with Akechi before everything goes to hell.
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Amamiya Ren, Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist
Comments: 8
Kudos: 79





	Round Two, aka Mayflies

**11/18/20XX**

“ _We_ _are terrible_ for _each other_ , and, _yes_ , _we_ _are a disaster_. 

_But tell me your heart doesn't race_ for a _hurricane_ or a _burning building_.

 _I'd rather die terrified than live forever_.” – Joey Comeau, _ASofterWorld_

They’d pointedly avoided one another since the fight in Mementos the previous week. Sure, there’d been the meetings, the communal get togethers when Joker called them up for a couple of team bonding exercise games of billiards, but one-on-one, since the showdown, they’d only interacted with one another with company present.

The tension in the air was thick and heavy, and both were licking their wounds in their own ways.

Morgana had asked Ren about it that night: “Just what did you _do_ down there?” and when Ren had murmured something about pent-up aggression, his four-legged friend had definitely _wondered_ , but left it well alone. Akechi was a complex subject: it was crystal clear that he was untrustworthy, but it was also equally clear that Ren and he had some sort of connection to one another that shifted beyond the professional or beyond cool obsessive rivalry. Morgana would always tactfully wander elsewhere when they met up; being around them seemed intrusive in a way that it wasn’t when Ren was seeing his other friends. He didn’t want to think about the possibility that the rivalry was a front for something more intimate; that felt _weird_ in the same sort of way that Ren wouldn’t want to think about Sojiro having a sex life.

The pool hall had been Ren’s idea for some team-building before sending the calling card. They had time to kill before the big day, and he knew there was tension amongst the group anyway—and he just plain _liked_ hanging out with his friends and enjoying the novelty of something as normal as playing billiards together. And he was good at it, too: he was pretty sure the rest of the group knew that he enjoyed the game—and the chance to show off a bit—as much as their company.

Akechi was different, though. He usually skirted on the outer edge of the group, only looking at Ren in group discussions, sometimes pointedly staring at _walls_ instead of his team mates—but since the Mementos fight, things had changed drastically. Ren supposed it was the blast to his ego: being beaten in that fight, so easily, when he’d called it to begin with, then that awkward face-saving discussion afterwards. “ _I hate you_.” And now, amongst the group, in the pool hall, Akechi was still being distant. Not in a way the others would have noticed: Ryuji openly disliked him and would say so to his face, Futaba, if she _had_ to say something usually kept it to a cutting insult, Makoto tried to be polite but it came off as crisp, impersonal professionalism, and the others tended to avoid him outright. They knew him, and they knew what he was planning, and none of them trusted, much less liked him. 

They didn’t know the Akechi Ren did. He hadn’t discussed the shift in his behaviour and the sheer… unguardedness he’d seen from the detective: Ren had started privately wondering if he was at least uncomfortable with the wheels he’d set in motion and there’d be a self-sabotage attempt as he tried to undo his plan. But he knew if he suggested it to them, they’d think he was being stupid. They’d ask why he was being so soft on Akechi. They’d… make him talk about things he wasn’t comfortable discussing yet.

Tonight, Akechi hung around the edge of the group, typically observing, not really part of things, but not out of the loop either; an outsider looking in. He declined the offer of playing at the table, which was a first, and none of the others objected, even though it meant that they were short a group member and had unequal numbers for split teams. Everyone was aware of his outsider status, but everyone was also pretending that they didn’t know what they did about him. Akechi, of course, didn’t know what the rest of them did about him, and just assumed regular borderline hostility from the Thieves. 

Every so often, though, Ren would look up—before setting up a shot, after expertly pocketing balls—and see Akechi, on the fringes of the group, staring at him, his expression both intense and unreadable. He’d be caught off guard for the moment, and suspected no one else had noticed—but it was enough to make him decide to say something to him later.

He knew what tomorrow would be. Not only did he strongly suspect that Akechi’s feelings towards him were more than simple outright hatred, but he suspected that if things didn’t go to plan for either of them, this could very well be the last time they spoke.

And perhaps—maybe there was a slim chance—Akechi’s plan could be adjusted. Maybe there wouldn’t be a need for such an elaborate situation; if Akechi had a shred of decency and all the honor he said he did, perhaps he’d call it off? If that was even doable at his end.

There was a slim chance, and it was a risk, but Ren knew that both of them were content with taking risks when they felt like it. Akechi’s quick thinking in the casino and alarming knack for gambling made Ren realise that he was sharp enough and able to wrangle himself out of seemingly impossible odds. It was yet another little surprise no one would have expected from the detective prince: he was a lot more risk tolerant and flexible than he appeared and than he _liked_ to appear.

The night wore on. Ren, Makoto and Yusuke had faced off against Ryuji, Ann and Haru, almost equally weighted teams— while Futaba tapped away at her laptop, unbothered by missing out since they were now one person short. It looked like Team Ren was going to be defeated this evening, but it was all in good fun, even if Ren felt unduly distracted, and aware that probably _none_ of them were especially focussed, knowing what awaited them around the corner.

As the balls were pocketed and the crowd around them changed, it was Makoto who suggested that they call it quits. “We need to get a decent sleep before tomorrow’s operation. And I don’t want sis to think I’m up to something if I get home late.”

Ren nodded, and watched as everyone said goodnight and began making their way out of the pool hall, readying themselves to catch their respective trains back home.

The sky had grown dark and the Kichijoji crowd had changed; young adults on dates and work functions now wandered the streets and eateries, lost in the excitement of a relatively youthful night, as the high schoolers headed home. In the distance, Ren could hear faint strains of music coming from the jazz bar around the corner where Akechi had taken him weeks ago and they’d lost themselves in conversation; the muffled conversations and the odd raucous laugh from tipsy adults moving from bars to restaurants, the smell of cooking hanging in the air around them.

“Man, am I _starving_ ,” Ryuji said with an exaggerated sigh. “Anyone stopping on the way home for ramen? I could eat maybe _five_ bowls of it right now.”

Makoto’s withering look wasn’t enough to put him off the idea.

“Actually, I wouldn’t mind a bite to eat myself.” Typical Yusuke.

“You’re payin’ this time, aren’t you? _Sweet_.” Ryuji turned to the rest of the group and grinned. “Seeya, guys.”

The girls sort of went their own way afterwards that, offering quick goodbyes which Ren knew would be followed up with text messages and group chats later in the evening, until it was just he, Futaba and Morgana—and Akechi walking ahead of them. There’d been no opportunity to attempt to discuss things with him—but with Futaba walking behind him and being distracted by the shops, and Morgana hitching a ride in his backpack, he could at least fire off a text message.

**> > Okay, you wanted to discuss something with me the other night, now *I* want to discuss something with *you.***

He didn’t expect Akechi to reply. He expected the same icy indifference he’d been receiving since that night, so he was genuinely surprised to feel the buzz of his phone in his pocket.

**> > What do you propose then?**

**> > Come to LeBlanc.**

**> > I suppose I can’t say no to a cup of coffee.**

Ren wasn’t even sure if he would show up. But Akechi was a man of his word, at least, and after catching the train back to Yongen-Jaya and seeing Futaba back home, he headed for LeBlanc, mentally prepared for Akechi to have dodged the invitation and made some excuse, to not be there, already telling himself to not be disappointed to find the cafe empty. He was heading to LeBlanc anyway, so what did it matter?

The way the warm dimmed lighting and the scent of coffee mingled with curry ingredients felt like home to him now, and he welcomed the familiar atmosphere as he opened the door. Sojiro was behind the counter, wiping down the coffee machine, his expression changing to one of relief as the bell tinkled and Ren stepped in.

“Hey there.”

The unspoken “I’m glad you’re safe,” lingered. He offered a tired smile and a slightly surprised look. “Seems someone’s dropped by.”

Ren could see Akechi sitting at his favourite spot at the counter, a cup of one of Sojiro’s blends next to him, steam rising from the cup. Obviously he hadn’t been waiting for long.

Offering a look of acknowledgement, at least, to him, Ren turned back to Sojiro. “Sorry I’m late; just made sure Futaba got home safely.”

Sojiro nodded. “I was just about to head home myself—you can lock up.” Taking his leave, he returned the cloth to kitchen and headed out.

“Thank you for the coffee.” Akechi’s voice was smooth and calm, and seemed completely at odds with his behaviour towards Ren and the rest of the group. But Sojiro—who wasn’t a part of this mess like they were—had no idea about any of it, smiled, warm and hospitable as usual.

“My pleasure. See you later on then.”

The door closed behind him, and Ren watched as he flipped the “open” sign to “closed,” and an awkward silence hung in the air around them.

Morgana could feel it too. He climbed out of Ren’s backpack, made his way onto the counter, stepped down onto a bar stool, then elegantly descended to the floor. “I’ve got things to do,” was his explanation. “I’ll see you later, Ren.” No acknowledgement of their visitor. He walked across the café and up the stairs— Ren’s bedroom window was usually left open enough for Morgana to wander out and return if need be—and finally, it was just the two of them.

“I assume whatever you called me for was external to Phantom Thieves business? I noticed the rest of them scarcely tolerate my presence nowadays.”

 _That’s because we know things we’re not meant to, and you_ did _kill two of our members’ parents_.

Of course, Ren could have lied or softened it, could have told them that they just didn’t _know_ Akechi very well, that they were still uncomfortable with how he’d joined the team, but both of them would have known it was bullshit. The one thing he respected about the detective was that despite the ulterior motive and not revealing information, Akechi actually had been honest with him in their exchanges. Or he’d skirted questions with the precision and deftness of a Hollywood cat burglar sneaking between laser beam security in a manner that still deserved some level of respect.

Ren had wondered what he’d do if confronted directly with the information, or if he was asked to explain himself: he couldn’t see him outright lying, and he could only bluff so well. Trying to sow seeds of doubt, turning the question back on him, being indignant that he wasn’t trusted: those would have been typical responses rather than overt fabrication.

“I’m sorry you’re feeling like that. We still invited you along.” He was watching him carefully, for some kind of reaction, a tell in his expression. But Akechi was far too good at giving away nothing. If his ability to do detective work went away, and his gambling tendencies remained, Ren suspected he’d be a devastating poker player.

“No you’re not. We’ve always had a brutally honest relationship. It doesn’t suit you... and I’d like to believe that you respect me a bit more than that.”

Ren nodded. “Fine. They aren’t thrilled about you working alongside us.”

Akechi smiled slightly. “I can accept that. I didn’t really give any of you much of a choice, did I?” He sipped his coffee again. “Now why did you call me here?”

Straight to the point. Typical.

“I think we need to discuss what happened the other day.”

“I believe we discussed it at the station afterwards. Didn’t I make myself clear, Ren?” A viciousness had slipped into his voice. “I’d prefer to not have to repeat myself, but if you insist—”

Still standing in front of the counter, Ren looked at him deliberately, trying to ascertain _any_ change in his expression. He wondered if the TV people encouraged him to get botox; there was no movement in his face, no change in _anything_ whatsoever.

“If you _hate_ me, and you were so determined to _beat_ me, why didn’t you?”

Akechi flinched. “We both know the answer to that, Ren. I simply wasn’t good enough, was I? I’m not going to make excuses or claim that I had an off night or some other ego buffering nonsense; the fact is, you were simply better than me.” The bitterness in his voice was clear. “Or do you like me repeating it to you again? Is that what you need, _Joker_? Reassurance?”

“I don’t think it’s that.” Ren chose his words carefully. “I’ve seen you destroy shadows without a moment’s hesitation. You faltered. You could have been underhanded and hit me after I’d thought the fight was over—”

“I’m insulted that you assume that I would do something so dishonorable.”

The audio file from his phone echoed in Ren’s mind at the moment: " _We could say he stole the guard’s gun and committed suicide during his imprisonment… How about that?"_

Admittedly, it was confronting hearing it for the first time, too. But now that time had passed since then, Ren did wonder if Akechi was at least slightly ambivalent, or having cold feet about the plan. Nonetheless, he refused to mention it.

“Furthermore, killing you—or causing you severe damage— would have greatly impacted upon the mission, would it not?” A glimmer of something dangerous snuck into his eyes. “And I’m still eagerly anticipating round two.”

Ren’s gaze took on the same competitive sharpness, his voice held barely-covered aggression towards his rival. “So am I.”

He understood to a degree, but the thrill of the challenge was both exciting, and one that he couldn’t easily refuse. And that fight had seemingly come out of nowhere; after weeks of what started as casual curiosity about the detective, and gradually morphed into something more fragile and uncomfortable. Sure, their relationship had a strong undercurrent of competition to it. Some degree of petty jealousy and admiration existed between friends all the time though. He suspected some of his crew had their own issues in that regard with both one another and himself: _he_ got to live in relative freedom in the attic of a cozy café, no parents breathing down his neck about school work, no huge concern about where his next meal was coming from. _His_ parents—unlike Yusuke’s, Futaba’s, Makoto’s, Haru’s—were, even if they’d shown little concern for him since his arrival here—still alive. To Yusuke, Haru must have lived a life of unimaginable freedom with her wealth… to Makoto, with the pressure about her grades and achievements, _all_ of them must have lived in a relatively carefree, low-stress environment. It was something they seemed to quietly accept, and it rarely caused issues beyond a misplaced comment and some awkwardness every now and then. It was human and understandable but never turned to aggression; yet another way his and Akechi’s relationship differed compared to everyone else’s.

Maybe Akechi wasn’t familiar with this stuff because having friends—having connections with anyone, really—was so alien to him? Ren didn’t know, and almost felt sorry for him—older and wiser in many ways, but still entirely clueless about things which seemed so simple to most people.

And then he decided to go out on a limb.

“Round two won’t happen if both of us don’t get out of there alive, you know.”

Akechi visibly flinched then, his gaze dropping to his shoes for a moment before meeting Ren’s.

“Have you so little confidence in yourself—or your team—or _me_ —that you think that would be a reasonable concern?”

Interesting.

“I just want everyone fully focussed on the mission tomorrow, and at their best. We can’t afford to have anyone distracted by grievances or other issues.”

Akechi nodded. Curiously, he made no mention of the rest of the team, but they both knew it: it was never really _about_ them to begin with. He finished his coffee, his eyes still on Ren, deliberate and focussed, still challenging.

“What do you suppose we do about it, then?”

Ren smirked. He couldn’t help himself. Akechi was so blind to his own failings despite his perfectly composed words and expressions. Just like with the pancakes comment, he’d been so convinced of his cleverness, just like he’d made that telling comment at the arcade as they played Gun About, he’d neglected to be on the lookout for any blind spots, that he’d left himself a wide open book.

Sure, he said he hated Ren. But hatred didn’t explain the moments of admiration and the guard dropping long enough for them to get to know one another. Hatred didn’t explain the way the light danced in his eyes when Ren did something that clearly pleased him: accepting the invitation to the jazz club, asking if he was okay in the bath house when the steam was getting to dizzying levels. Hatred didn’t explain why Akechi had stumbled over his words, awkwardly feeling like he’d said too much after a night out, when he’d _called_ just wanting to chat about something they’d done together. It wasn’t hatred, it wasn’t purely a business relationship, and it _certainly_ wasn’t like any of the friendships he had with his other confidants. There was an element of danger to him which was exciting; both knew in their own way that they were playing a dangerous game, that attachment here was fruitless and risky and pointless. But they took the risk and did it anyway.

And here they were facing one another in an empty café, for no logical reason, on the eve of what was going to change both their lives in some potentially devastating manner.

“Come upstairs. We probably should discuss things properly.”

Ren was expecting an excuse, “a thank you for the coffee,” and to be walking upstairs alone, hearing the friendly “ding ding” of the door chime sounding as Akechi left in flustered confusion. It probably wasn’t the smartest move just before the mission, but he knew it was going to get ugly, that after they defeated Sae’s shadow, nothing was going to be the same between them ever again.

Might as well get something _close_ to closure at least.

Instead, he was aware of the footsteps behind his, a weight on the stairs that was unfamiliar when you were used to walking up there alone every night, and the detective’s uncharacteristically uncertain voice—“What’s this about, Ren?”

They stepped into his room, and the surprise that they had both reached this point appeared to be mutual.

“I didn’t think you’d come up here.”

“I didn’t think I would, either.”

“So why did you? If you _hate_ me this much?”

There was still a debate in their words; still a challenge of sorts.

“I’m amused that you seem to disregard my curiosity, Ren. I’ve said before that I find you intriguing. Sometimes it’s interesting to just see what you’re going to do next.”

The smug little prick. He was smirking, too, now, and he looked so damned _pleased_ about it.

On a few of their, well, Ren supposed you could call them dates, he had almost— _almost_ —expected some sort of expression of _interest_ from Akechi. But after –was it the bath house, maybe—he suspected that there was a vulnerability about the detective prince despite his perfectly controlled and manicured appearance. Possibly even more damaging and horrifying to him than being bested, was the terror of what it would feel like to be _rejected_ by someone he had some sort of investment in.

He didn’t care about the rest of the Phantom Thieves. He didn’t care about Sae’s approval. But for whatever reason, he’d grown attached to Ren, probably the most illogical person to show any vulnerability towards, and being beaten in Mementos had clearly hurt like hell.

Ren moved closer towards him in one fluid movement, feeling his nerves and cheeks burn. There were two ways this could go, and he was trying to assess the odds of both outcomes—that was more Makoto’s thing, wasn’t it?—but Makoto had said herself that on matters of, well, love—and was this love—she was hopeless—

“This.”

Closing his eyes and expecting Akechi to actually bolt now, and to be laughing about this maybe with Ann and Ryuji tomorrow morning, about how he’d scared off the detective prince by calling such a ridiculous bluff, he reached out to him.

It was a matter of seconds; maybe not even that long, but he felt his entire body stiffen with utmost shock when he felt the detective’s lips against his own, aggressively kissing him, probably in another form of competition that this time, that Akechi was desperate to win. He opened his eyes to look into Akechi’s—they were closed, and his hands were gripping him tightly and possessively, as though this was something he’d wanted to do for a very long time.

He broke the kiss and stared at him in utter disbelief and amazement. Akechi looked positively _hungry_ now, triumphant.

“So was _this_ your end game, Ren? Really, you could have simply just _said_ something.” He still sounded so fucking smug.

Raising an eyebrow, feeling the heat rise to his cheeks, Ren replied. “And that was never an option for _you_ , Mr. Way With Words? Then again, you told me last week that you _hated_ me.”

“Indeed I did.” The hunger in his expression hadn’t abated. “And yet you still invited me up here, alone. One could deduce that you’re either blindly oblivious to danger, or have masochistic tendencies. Perhaps both. Or is this just about the _thrill_ of the risk, _Joker_?” He paused, his smirk still triumphant. “You truly are fascinating.”

Not to be outdone, and certainly not to be intimidated, Ren reached for him again, kissing him with the same level of want and conviction as he had been greeted by Akechi. It was odd: it was _hot_ , definitely, and there was something cathartic in this, and for the months leading up to this point he’d _wanted_ to believe that those subtle indicators from Akechi had been suggestive of interest in him like this… but he hadn’t wanted to in case he was horribly mistaken.

He clung to the detective and deepened the kiss, his tongue desperate and frantic. It still felt like competition.

That was okay.

They stumbled, entwined in one another, across the room and when Ren felt the nudge of the futon at his shins, he pushed Akechi down onto the makeshift bed.

“Damn—you—”

Akechi pulled back as he landed. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

“Deadly.”

Ren expected another kiss, or a declaration of “So am I,” or… some continuation… but Akechi pulled back gently, suddenly awkward and uncertain.

“Ren,” he said quietly. “Are—you sure about this?”

Raising an eyebrow, red-cheeked and feeling decidedly cocky now, Ren answered. “Are you withdrawing?” His voice softened with a touch of sympathy. “Look, I won’t tell anyone. I’m… sorry.”

 _Joke’s over_. _You don’t have to do this as a means of proving anything to me or not letting me see the whites of your eyes. We can call it a stalemate_.

“No— no—not at all.” Akechi’s breath came out in little gasps. “I’m just—not sure that _now_ is the best time for this—or that this is—what you really want?”

Ren froze. The sheer _want_ in those warm brown eyes, the redness in his cheeks, betrayed his words. His heart skipped a beat: _Goro Akechi wants me_. _In the same sort of way as I’ve wanted him and wanted him to want me._

“For a detective, you are absolutely terrible at reading the room, aren’t you?”

Akechi’s gaze hardened. “I’m just not sure that this would be… a good idea.”

“Two seconds ago I could have sworn you thought it was a _great_ idea.”

“I”—gasp—“realise that. And you’re right.” He looked around awkwardly. “I’ve—never done this before.”

Ren blinked. Part of him wanted to have a private chuckle, though he suspected that that wouldn’t be accepted terribly well by Akechi in this state.

“What, you haven’t… _done the deed_? Or… is it that I’m a _guy_ that you’re weird about…?”

“No, and – _no._ I’m not some blushing virgin, Ren, I thought you would have deduced that on your own—I’ve just not—done something like _this_ before.”

 _What, made out with someone on your hit list?_ Ren was horribly tempted to use his momentary encumbered state to take full advantage of the situation. It took every ounce of self-control not to. Instead, he resorted to humour. “Well, most people haven’t fucked a Phantom Thief, have they?”

Akechi chuckled. “I suppose you’re right. That wasn’t really what I was talking about, but—”

The hunger in his eyes hadn’t abated. He looked serious, now, but also strangely vulnerable. Gone was the composed emotionless expression and the even tone of voice.

Ren kicked off his shoes and stretched on the mattress. “No pressure,” he said. “At all.” It was strange; what had seemed like merely reading the signals, and then turned into an elaborate risk to potentially put Akechi in his place or inspire guilt or a confession now felt like a terrible idea. But the meat of it—the closeness, the intimacy—did not. But the idea of making him feel pressured into doing anything left him feeling uncomfortable too.

“That’s—” Akechi sighed, those brown eyes staring into his uncomfortably. “Please understand this, Ren: I truly, _truly_ don’t want to cause you any more hurt than I may at some point in time.”

Ren grinned, and glanced past his shoulder. “I have lube in that box under my desk over there.”

Akechi’s laugh became a nervous chuckle. “No—that _wasn’t_ what I was implying—” another giggle— _He looks so_ cute _when he giggles_ — and his voice dropped to something more serious. “For whatever reason, it seems like fate has chosen some sort of _situation_ for us. I can’t entirely explain it—but I’m sure you know what I am referring to?”

“Yeah—”

“And— whatever sides of the law we’re on, we’re rivals. Still… I don’t want you getting hurt because of this.”

Ren nodded seriously. In a way, it sounded ridiculous. The man who was going to arrest and then kill him in less than forty-eight hours didn’t want to _hurt_ _his feelings_? Was he worried that if the rest of them found out, they’d be after him, not just in retaliation his death, but for _this_? Or was it a matter of complexity—that somehow killing him was honourable and acceptable because of their respective roles and goals in this mess, but having sex with him wasn’t? For all Akechi’s comments about Ren being a mystery or hard to understand, at least he wasn’t _this_ bizarre. At least _his_ moral code made _some_ sort of sense.

“What if this is the last time you ever get to hang out with me? What if one of us dies in there?”

Akechi looked away briefly, and then gently extended his reach to clasp his hand over Ren’s.

“Ren—I… I am certain that won’t happen. Your power is truly incredible. The Phantom Thieves have had so many successes so far—”

“Eventually the game catches up with you, though, doesn’t it? Every one of those missions came with risk. We don’t really know what we’re going to face in the final showdown.”

“So we’re sitting on the brink of destruction and _this_ is your final preparation for it?”

Ren shrugged, smiling. “Why not? I knew you didn’t _hate me_ like that.”

“So this is about being right?”

Still feeling the weight of Akechi’s gloved hand—did he have multiple pairs of those things?—over his own, Ren shook his head. “Not really. I just—”

And he leaned over to kiss Akechi again. Softly, gently, devoid of the earlier possession and competition in the gesture. He was surprised to feel the same tenderness being returned, and Akechi’s hands move around to fully embrace him. “Is this… really what you want?”

Momentarily irritated, but touched by the sweetness of the gesture, Ren just stared at him, wide-eyed. “It wasn’t _obvious_?”

Akechi chuckled once again. “Very well then.” He kissed the Phantom Thief once more, this time not _quite_ as gently, with that initial undeniable hunger. One hand snaked up behind Ren’s neck, his fingers running through his hair, half-possessive, half exploratory.

“You can take those off, you know.”

Akechi chuckled nervously again. “God, Ren, you’re—”

“What?”

“I don’t want to hurt you.” The way he said it seemed to be desperately at odds with his plan. There was something genuine in his voice; regret, sincerity, _something_ different to his typical charming and measured responses.

“You’re talking about me like I’m a paper doll.” Another kiss, and Ren’s hands clumsily fumbled with the detective’s belt. “You’ve seen the damage I’ve taken in the metaverse. And Mementos.”

Akechi smirked again, his look now devillish. “I’ve been told I fuck like I fight.”

Ren felt the blood swelling to his cheeks—and other places—at that comment. It definitely wasn’t Akechi’s camera-friendly phrasing _or_ tone, and there was something _ridiculously_ hot about it. Somehow, it inspired Ren’s irrepressible cockiness, and that same competitive streak Akechi had displayed all through their relationship.

“Who the hell would tell you that?”

Akechi’s smile grew, and a glint of mischief reflected in his eyes. “The detective prince doesn’t kiss and tell.”

That was mildly disappointing, and Ren had wondered if Akechi had a specific type, and if he matched it, or what sort of overall history his rival had. But it wasn’t surprising that he remained tight-lipped about it.

“Well, I hope you’re a bit better at fucking than fighting then.”

Akechi’s response was to push him down onto the mattress harshly, kissing him once again, his strength and weight momentarily surprising him. It was like some sort of primal energy had been let loose; the sophisticated, polite detective prince had left the building, and this is who’d taken his place.

“You little shit.” There was humour in his voice, but a deathly cold seriousness to his words. Before Joker could hit back with a sarcastic comment, he was kissed once again, all-encompassing and domineering, silencing him as he pushed into his mouth. Akechi broke the kiss, smiling, his hands still firmly holding Ren’s shoulders against the mattress. His face was flushed and his breath was ragged and full of want.

“Is this _really_ what you want?”

Ren nodded, amazed and aroused. “ _Yes_. And don’t try to pretend you don’t. There’s… _stuff_ … under the desk in that shoebox,” he managed. He lay on the futon in a stunned sort of fugue, as lightning-fast, the detective scrabbled through an assortment of lockpicks and other supplies, finding what he was looking for and shifting back onto the bed.

When Akechi returned to his position—it seemed like a stupid assumption, but he was much stronger than he appeared—Ren loosened his own belt and waited in anticipation.

But Akechi, for all his want and aggression, was focussing, on the moment, on kissing him instead, his tongue playfully moving in and out of Ren’s mouth, tempting and frustrating, his body pressed warmly against him.

Ren pushed back: every part of him was desperately seeking release, but Akechi either ignored it or wanted to prolong this. Eventually, one of his hands moved down to Ren’s tie, and he loosened it deftly, breaking the kiss to pull it over his head and remove it, before steadily unbuttoning his shirt and directing his kisses lower and over his collarbones. Ren shifted under his hold, trying to wriggle from his grip—he wasn’t sure he wanted to escape, but he was damned if everything was going to be initiated by the detective prince.  
  


He shifted enough to break free, his own fingertips trying to work the knot of that black and white striped tie undone.

“I’ll tie you up with that if you can’t exercise some restraint,” Akechi warned, half-serious, half-teasing.

Ren smirked. “Maybe next time.”

Akechi made a funny little noise then, a sort of guttural, quiet mewl, and roughly pulled at Ren’s shirt, exposing his chest to the cool night air. His lips moved across his skin, appreciative and yet aggressive, his kisses rough and desperate.  
  
Ren felt like his body was electrified. Everything felt sensitive and alert and _wanting_ ; it seemed Akechi was good with his mouth in a way that wasn’t _just_ camera-friendly. Not that most of his fans would get to see _this_ side of him. 

_I guess it’s always the quiet ones_ , he thought to himself, as he briefly considered pointing out that no, despite Akechi’s strength and skill on the battlefield and his high level persona, he was _definitely_ better at _this_ than fighting, and that he’d certainly won round two hands down. But Akechi thrived on competition, pushed himself harder when he felt the drive to win—Ren sucked in his breath and a yelp as the detective’s lips lingered on one of his nipples and fingers starting nimbly loosening his slacks— didn’t he?

“You seem to be enjoying this, yes?” Despite taking complete charge of the situation and leaving Ren almost at his mercy, there was a softness in his voice; no longer snide and challenging, but almost incredulous and awed. Ren could only nod silently, wondering if he was going to continue. One part of his brain expected Akechi to be honorable and detail-orientated and a perfectionist, to want to be the absolute _best_ partner Ren could ever remember. Another part of his brain wondered if this was all a big ruse to _beat_ him, to get him ridiculously worked up only to leave him hanging and desperate in an entirely frustrating manner once he’d asserted full control.

“If you leave me like this, I _swear_ , I will _kill_ you.” His voice was an ugly, frustrated grunt which surprised both of them.

Akechi chuckled. “Not my intention at all. But I’m flattered that you seem to think of me in such glowing terms already.”

Typical cocky bastard. One minute there was something akin to vulnerability and genuine sweetness, only to be followed up by that painful arrogance and an awareness of how damned good he was. He continued kissing down Ren’s chest, his gloved hands tight against his skin.

“You know, you _can_ take those off, you realise?”

“You’re being dreadfully bossy for someone I’m practically lying on top of.”

Ren didn’t reply. Part of him wanted to push back against the detective prince, to shock and surprise him, to hold him at his mercy… another part of him was curious about what Akechi, left to his own devices, would do.

He removed the gloves. Arching himself up for a moment, pulling away from his ministrations, he elegantly pointed his right hand and slipped off the glove with his left, the repeated the same process on the other hand.

“You make a fair point. I suppose it’s only reasonable that I undress as well.”

Wait—was that a hint of nervousness in his voice? He’d been somewhat bashful in the bathhouse, initially, but had relaxed after a few moments in the warm water, only to get almost flustered again—even if he could use the excuse of the steam and the heat—as they entered the change rooms.

Ren smiled in what he hoped was an encouraging manner. He’d seen Akechi naked before; and he’d liked what he had seen even if he wasn’t sure whether or not he was meant to be looking at the time. He was slim and lithe in a way that one might have thought of as unremarkable at first, but close up, was perfect. Not _too_ anything; graceful and even would have been the closest descriptors that came to his mind when he thought about it.

He slowly unbuttoned his shirt, his eyes still on Ren’s.

“I could help you with that, you know.”

“It would be more efficient if I took care of it—”

“It might be more fun if I did.” Even now, when feeling so utterly _owned_ by Akechi, he couldn’t resist talking back to him.

“You say that like you’ve been considering this for some time.” He delicately pulled his sweater vest over his head and began undoing the buttons on his shirt.

Ren smiled shyly, watching him undress. “The time we were at the café.”

“With Yoshizawa-san or when we were accosted by screaming fangirls?”

“The time with the fangirls. When I helped you disguise yourself to evade their notice.”

Akechi leaned back and shrugged off the shirt, listening intently as Ren watched him. 

“And then during that phone conversation afterwards, you mentioned something about us taking the same clothing size… and I forget what I said but I was thinking more along the lines of seeing you _without_ clothes.”

“And you got your wish granted a few weeks ago at the bathhouse, didn’t you?”

“That was _different,_ ” Ren insisted. “And you know that. I’ve been to that bath house with Ryuji and Yosuke, too.”

“ _Really_?” His response was quick and almost… _jealous_? “Alone or with both of them?”

That was _definitely_ jealousy. It was amusing, but ridiculous, and Ren was tempted to roll his eyes at the implication. “All three of us went one evening. And no, it was _very_ different to _this_ situation.” As if to reassure him, Ren leaned towards him for another kiss. Akechi acquiesced, his now naked hands trailing over Ren’s skin, exploring.

“Do you know when it was for me?” He shifted, leaning over Ren and gently—but firmly—held him against the mattress as he peppered kisses across his chest.

“Mmmm?”

He looked up, his eyes wide and serious. “The TV studio.”

_God. That early?_

“I’m sure you’ll remember the studio was full, and normally it’s just a mass of anonymous faces. But—I was looking in your direction, which was probably why they chose you to answer the question about the Phantom Thieves in the first place.”

“So you had no idea it was me then?”

“No. And then you stood up, defiant and just willing to speak your mind and be game to disagree with me. You weren’t like the rest of them, you weren’t another sycophant. And you were, well… look at you.”

If Ren thought Akechi was awkward about being complimented, it was nothing on what he was feeling right now. He’d never been called _good looking_. He wasn’t exactly _ugly_ , but he’d always felt he was kind of average and just sort of blended in with the crowd, and that was generally how he’d been content. Becoming Joker had given him confidence, and he realised that he liked being the centre of attention—but that was shrouded in mystery and behind a mask and a rebel costume, where he could _be_ confident. He wasn’t like Ryuji, the athlete with the chiselled body, or Yusuke, who’d all but been nicknamed “pretty boy” by the group, and he certainly wasn’t like Akechi, sophisticated and delicate and gorgeous… he felt _average_ and he had always accepted that _._

“Well… okay.”

“It wasn’t just your defiance that caught my eye,” Akechi admitted. “And I’m not sure if you’ll recall, but I _did_ ask for your phone number after we met off-stage during that screening, too.”

“I thought that was because you were suspicious of me.”

Akechi chuckled, and shifted up the bed again, to be face-to-face with Ren, as one hand snaked around his neck, and the other fumbled with his belt. His eyes were alight and amused. “For someone called me oblivious to reading sentiment… maybe we’re equally matched in that department.”

This was skirting too dangerously close to some uncomfortable truths. Maybe they were both aware of it.

“I do believe I might have been flirting with you at the time.”

“I hope you fight better than you flirt.”

Akechi’s hand snaked down to Ren’s waist, and pulled down on his loosened slacks. “I think we’re well beyond the need for flirting.” He ran his fingertips over Ren’s crotch, brushing over Ren’s cotton underpants. “If _that’s_ any indication, anyway.”

Ren exhaled deeply at the featherlight touch. This was crazy. This was stupid. This was… what he’d fantasised about, only better. He shuffled under Akechi’s grip and kicked his pants off, leaving them in a pool of tartan on the mattress, before returning to Akechi and kissing him again. “Stay with me,” he murmured. “Beyond this. Even if we disband the Phantom Thieves after tomorrow, just… stay with me.”

Akechi pulled away carefully. “I can’t promise you something I don’t think I can commit to.” His eyes moved over Ren’s near-naked body and he sighed. “Is this really what it’s come to?” he asked vaguely. “Two people on the verge of the unknown and probably ruin and on the eve of it we’re fucking like mayflies?”

Ren chuckled. Akechi’s observation about the whole scenario was unintentionally comedic. “You take yourself too seriously sometimes. _Mayflies_?”

“Their shortened lifespan and likelihood of not surviving all the potential threats in their environment means their adult life is limited to fucking and dying, pretty much.”

“You really are terrible at flirting.” Ren didn’t care. He kissed him again. “If one of us doesn’t make it out of that palace, the other one of us is going to remember a missed opportunity that was cut short by your terrible attempt at intellectualising the situation.”

Akechi’s cheeks flushed. “I—I just don’t want to do anything that’s going to—”

“If you’re not into it, just say so and leave.” Ren’s gaze moved over the detective. Still the same icy perfection and awkwardness he’d always had, those huge brown eyes avoiding his, and that tinge of red in his face that suggested some degree of ambiguity and awkwardness. He wanted him. Badly.

“I don’t want to leave,” he admitted. Shakily, he removed his own slacks, shuffled out of them and tossed them on the floor as if to make a point. “I also don’t want to make a difficult situation any worse.”

“You can’t,” Ren offered quietly. “It is what it is.”

Akechi seemed to take that as some kind of acceptance, relaxing somewhat, reaching for Ren yet again, his hands greedily running down his body as though he still couldn’t quite believe what was happening. His hesitation was replaced with sheer want, as he lay against Ren, grinding against him, indicating that yes, despite the apparent ambiguity of his words, he was definitely as interested as the Phantom Thief.

Ren moaned softly feeling the detective’s body against his own, that strained erection brushing up against his, that all-encompassing maddening friction driving him crazy. He hadn’t expected it to go like this. He’d expected something… less intimate in a way, more aggressive, less tentative. He’d… think about all that later on. Right now the detective’s soft hair was beneath his fingertips, his lips against his, his weight holding him down into the mattress, the scent of whatever that woodsy cologne was overriding his sense of smell. He kissed him back passionately, allowing the detective to nip playfully on his bottom lip as he felt long smooth fingers slip beneath the elastic of his underpants, finding his erection, lazily stroking him before tugging down the fabric and exposing him completely. He didn’t know if Akechi was acting on sheer want or experience—possibly a combination of both—and it didn’t matter. There was a minor cessation of movement as Akechi removed his own underwear, and then laid back against him, the warmth of his body meeting Ren’s.

Ren clung to him, his fingernails biting into his shoulders, as, spurned on, Akechi stroked him faster, murmuring something like approval as precum seeped onto his hands. He could feel one of Akechi’s hands stroking him, faster now, sending shockwaves of pleasure through his body, the other hand moving back further and brushing over his entrance teasingly.

Akechi seemed to pay his frustration no mind, and Ren released his grip, shifting onto his side.

“No.” The detective’s voice was a weird combination of serious and delirious, heady with desire and want. “Stay like that—I want to see your face when you—”

Ren shuddered under his touch and shifted back, arching his hips up in want.

“Patience…” His voice was definitely aroused, but warning. “Just—let me—” he found the lubricant and coated his fingers, and Ren squirmed against him as the cold liquid made contact with his skin.

Akechi leaned down, kissing him deeply as one hand slid up and down his cock, the other teasing at his entrance with careful movements. When he pushed into him, Ren uttered something between a whine and a gasp, and the detective’s lips found his again to kiss his, hard and steady. “That’s it,” he murmured, “Just—”

Ren bit down on his lip as Akechi moved back and tried to add a second finger, jerking him furiously.

“I’m—”

The detective smirked and opened his mouth, as though about to say something, but didn’t, withdrawing his fingers, stroking himself, and running the tip of his cock between Ren’s buttocks in a teasing, languid manner.

He shifted himself as Ren, redfaced and fidgeting, mumbled incomprehensively before gasping as he entered.

“Are—you okay?”

Ren nodded stiffly, still adjusting, as Akechi kissed him again. “You—are—so—” he started to say, his voice a velvet purr of satisfaction, his eyes wide and aroused. “I—”

Ren shifted against him, quickly adjusting to the sudden intrusion, pulling away and pushing back against the detective as he resumed to stroking his erection. His breath escaped in short, stunned gasps that relaxed under Akechi’s movements and rhythm, and he gradually fell into it, pushing back against his thrusts, his gasps turning to soft moans as Akechi sped up.

Akechi kissed him deeply, that initial aggression returning with the force of his movements, and Ren could only moan approval in response. He was… good at this. So good that it hadn’t felt like much of a competition as much as an early surrender on his part, but it no longer mattered; he felt alive in a way he hadn’t before, intoxicated and electrified with a sense of want and satisfaction that mingled together and made him want to scream.

He felt his body tense up with the movement, as Akechi moaned appreciative, incomprehensible things against his mouth, urging him on and consuming him at the same time, equal parts awestruck and utterly selfish. He no longer looked like the perfect detective prince—there was something wild and untamed about him as he sped up, his movements lost in furious lustful abandon; he was free in a way Ren had never seen him before.

“You are so fucking—” he hissed, his sentence never finished as he continued thrusting into Ren, causing the Phantom Thief to moan against him.

As Ren felt his body stiffen with climax, he felt Akechi’s hands move up to his torso, gripping his throat uncomfortably tightly. He flinched, breaking the spell, and Akechi looked almost stunned for a second, repositioning one arm under his shoulders, pulling him closer, moving the other hand back to Ren’s cock to stroke him furiously.

He came a moment later, with a raw, guttural, positively _feral_ scream that was anything Ren had heard from him before; as though it belonged to an entirely different person. And yet it was still undeniably _hot_. He felt his body tense up at the sound and the sensation, as gradually Akechi’s movements slowed and he exhaled a heavy sigh, withdrawing and shuddering against him.

Maybe it was the scream, maybe it was the sensation of Akechi coming against him like that; but it was enough to push Ren entirely over the edge and into completion himself. He gasped as he came, hot and furious and strangely cathartically against the detective’s touch, frantically reaching up to kiss him in the dying throes of passion. Akechi returned the kiss, in a breathy, exhausted way, then flopped against Ren’s still shuddering body, one arm wrapped over his shoulders, those long fingers dangling near his clavicle, his other hand idly rested on the other’s hip. They lay like that for what felt like a long time, catching their breaths as their heartrates and pulses returned to normal.

There was a brief silence as they caught their breaths, hot, sticky, and still not moving away from one another, Akechi continuing to hold Ren in a manner that felt both possessive and yet oddly endearing.

Ren was the first to speak.

“I… didn’t really expect that.”

“Mmmm?” Akechi loosened his grip and casually ran a fingertip down Ren’s back. “Are you… all right? I didn’t _hurt_ you, did I? I feel like I warned you beforehand, but—” And then, as if an awkward apology, “I did _try_ to restrain myself.”

Ren thought back to his hands making their way to his throat as he climaxed, and then firmly digging into his shoulders instead. “Are… you _into_ pain? Did you want me to—should I have—”

“No.” There was a slightly embarrassed note to his voice. “I… have experimented with it myself, but it doesn’t really do anything for me. It seems that sometimes my partner’s reaction to pain does do something though.” It was an odd, deeply personal confession which lacked the typical Akechi confidence and like much of the evening, felt quite vulnerable. “I hope I didn’t hurt you though—"

“No. I’m okay. You…” Ren smiled reassuringly, trailing off, his thoughts still clouded with post-coital bliss. “ _More_ than okay. It was just… unexpected, that’s all.”

“I suppose it’s a bit different from the charming detective prince image most people seem to have of me.”

“Yeah…” Ren paused. For all the weirdness and confusion and the inevitable _thing_ which he knew was on the horizon, he felt like he’d seen a side of Akechi that no one else had. That he understood—no, he wasn’t even _close_ to understanding him—that he _knew_ him a bit better. Even if knowing him like this only left even more unanswered questions.

“Would you like to stay for the rest of the night?” he asked innocently. _After all, this probably won’t happen again._ The idea of snuggling next to him and watching him sleep, waking up next to him— _shit, what would Morgana say when he returned?_ —was still an appealing one.

“Yes, but… I think both of us know that’s not a sensible idea.” Akechi’s voice had returned to normal, but there was a touch of regret underlying it. “I imagine it would come with the added complication of an awkward discussion with Morgana, and possibly the rest of your team mates, probably an even more awkward discussion with Sojiro, not to mention the very serious risk of neither of us getting a good night’s sleep on the eve of a very important mission that we simply cannot fail.”

Ren smiled wistfully, aware that he was, annoyingly, right. “If you stay, I can promise that I won’t have the energy to keep this up all night, at least.” It was a hopeful, last-ditch attempt at making him stay, but Akechi smiled sadly and shook his head.

“Yeah… you’re right.” He wasn’t good at hiding the disappointment in his voice. “Unfortunately.”

He expected Akechi to respond with something cheerfully cocky, to inject some lighthearted warmth into the mood, but instead, he just looked down at the pile of scattered clothes on the floor.

“Yes,” he said quietly. It sounded so final and laced with regret and sadness that Ren almost— _almost_ —wondered if he was close to admitting what wheels were in motion, what was going to occur in less than twenty-four hours. Maybe he’d double-cross his handler at the last possible moment in that way he was prone to, thinking three steps ahead of everyone else just like he’d done in the casino; there was always _that_ possibility, too. But it wasn’t one he felt like sharing with the rest of the team. Suggesting such a possibility would require an explanation. That explanation would require explaining, well, _this._ It was easier and smarter, he knew, to just stick with the plan and adapt to any unexpected chaos that happened when it did.

Ren lifted his head as he stood up. Rather than being aggressively confident and in control, Akechi now wore a tired, wistfulness about him that now verged on self-conscious. He nudged the clothes towards him with his feet, and dressed in silence. Ren watched, silent and still fascinated, desperate to understand what was going on in that strange mind of his that still seemed to have so many unexpected surprises.

When he’d pulled his left glove on, he leaned over to Ren, brushed a handful of dark curls out the way, and kissed him gently on the forehead. “Thank you,” he said quietly. “I’m…not really sure who won round two, but it was certainly an enjoyable match.”

Ren pulled the bedcovers around him. They still smelled of Akechi, his sweat and cologne, and stupid as it was, he was already wondering how long he could feasibly go without washing them. A part of him wanted to stay like this for as long as he could, before the brutal reality hit where someone was going to wind up dead or destroyed.

“You did,” he said with a tiny smile. “I was more than happy to concede.” He was tempted to make a comment about maybe not giving it everything and there being a need for a _proper_ rematch at a later date, but he knew exactly how tentative and depressing that thought was.

Akechi smiled though; a genuine beam of triumph and achievement. He opened his mouth as if to say something, and then closed it.

“The offer to stay is still there, you know. I could make you a coffee before you leave at least?”

Akechi smiled. “You look so content like that, it would be unfair of me to expect coffee now. And anyway, both of us need a good night’s sleep. I believe we’re sufficiently de-stressed and ready to move along with the next stage of the mission, yes?”

Ren just smiled sadly and nodded. “I’ll see you tomorrow night then.”

He lay in his bed, listening to the sound of footsteps padding downstairs, the creak of the bathroom door open—it was tempting to go down there and blurt out that he knew _everything_ , that it didn’t matter, that they could somehow deal with this— _so_ tempting _—_ and shut, and then then flush of the toilet, water through pipes, the door opening and shutting again, footsteps across the café, and then the final “ding ding” as Akechi snuck out the front door. Somehow the bell’s usual cheerfulness had been rendered utterly melancholy after this moment; something else he could mull upon and thank Akechi for after all this was over, he suspected. 

He lay awake in the darkness, still trying to process what had happened, when he felt a familiar heaviness on the mattress next to him. Morgana had returned through the window, and instantly knew something was amiss. It was probably the _smell_ , Ren suspected. That smell that permeated his bedclothes and he was huffing from his sheets.

“Whoa! Something’s… _happened_ here.” He nuzzled up against Ren, concern in his voice. “Is everything okay?”

“Yep.” He was tired, and feeling maudlin, but he welcomed Morgana’s presence. At least he wasn’t left alone.

“You wanna talk about it?”

“Not really.” How the hell could he even _begin_ to explain this—or any of this—to Morgana, or any of his other friends?

“Okay then…” Morgana yawned, seeming content with that answer and thankfully unwilling to push. “Let’s get some sleep then. Tomorrow’s the final chapter!”


End file.
